


Once Upon a Time

by NewWonder



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Gen, no happily ever after here kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewWonder/pseuds/NewWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the night, when the cold pale moon comes out, a shadow steps out of the great mirror in the king’s castle. A coat of black feathers and lips red like the blood of your heart, with the face and body just like that of the king's. They say that the king cannot be killed—but the shadow can."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful land with a terrible king.

At first, nobody knew he was terrible. He talked sweetly and smiled benignly, and the people of the land hailed him as a just and noble king. The land prospered, and those who lived there, lived happily. No evil dwelled in that land, they said, and even the smallest, most defenseless child had nothing to fear there.

But in the night, when the gentle sun hid its face and the cold pale moon came out, men, women and children would disappear from their houses, never to be seen again. Still, the next morning, it was like they never existed at all, so nobody worried.

There was a small boy who had no family in the world anymore. He was from another land, burnt and razed by the war. He had lost everything, and he feared nothing and cared for no-one, but the beautiful land and the kind people slowly grew dear to him, and there was a person or two who called him their friend. There was a sweet little girl who had eight brothers, and a boy who loved ice-cream; they would gather in the girl’s house, and build a blanket fort, and tell each other scary stories. The lonely, bitter boy would just silently listen and scoff at the stupidest ones, but secretly, he wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.

Until one day, he came to the girl’s house, and there were only seven brothers at home. When the boy asked after the eighth one, all he got was blank looks and weird glances.

The next day, when the moon was full, he came back and saw there were only six brothers left.

Day after day, he would come and find one man less, and finally the day came when the girl looked at him and guilelessly asked, "What are you talking about? I never had any brothers."

The boy used to have a little sister who was very dear to him, before the soldiers came and burned her alive. He swore to find out what happened to the girl’s brothers, and avenge them if he could.

He asked here and there, but nobody knew anything, until one day, the boy met an old man with white hair and beard who told him the truth.

"The king is a sorcerer," he said, "the most powerful in the land. You have never seen him because you’ve been here for less than a year, so he doesn’t hold the power to erase your memories yet. Every year on the winter solstice, he gathers his subjects at the Grand Square and charms them so that he can go on controlling their minds and bodies. He takes people from their homes and orders everybody else to forget them, so they do."

"But… why does he do that?" the boy whispered.

"I cannot really tell you, my boy. Some people say he does it just for fun; others say he devours their souls to make magic, stay young, and live forever. He _is_ old, you know."

"How… how do I kill him?" the boy wanted to know. The king was far more than the boy could hope to take over, but he lost his family, and somehow it seemed to him that his baby sister would be glad if he tried stopping the king from doing the same to other people.

"They say that he has an only weakness, one that could be fatal if someone brave took the chance. In the night, when the cold pale moon comes out, a shadow steps out of the great mirror in the king’s castle. A coat of black feathers and lips red like the blood of your heart, with the face and body just like that of the king’s. They say that the king cannot be killed—but the shadow can."

"What is this shadow?" the boy asked. "Why is it in the mirror?"

"They say the king was so evil that his own heart and soul would rebel against his misdeeds and slowly fail the body, so the king extracted it and placed it into an enchanted mirror. That’s why people never see his eyes; it’s because he has no soul. But once the full moon comes out, the king’s powers increase tenfold, and so do the heart’s, because they are still one. The soul comes out of its prison in a body of its own, just as strong and fit as the king’s. But the king has numerous enchantments on him, so he can’t be killed easily. The heart, however, is just as vulnerable as the one beating in your chest."

And so the boy sneaked into the royal garden, and when the nightfall came, he creeped into the palace. There were many guards around, but they didn’t notice him, for the old man gave him a parting gift. Before leaving, he touched the boy’s forehead and whispered something in a strange language, and then said:

"As light as a feather, dance, dance between the shadows. Sneaky, peaky, slip away before the light of day."

Then he told the boy that he would have to get out of the palace before the dawn, because the first ray of sunshine to touch him would break the enchantment; and then he disappeared, just like that. The boy thought that was rude; besides, he never cared much for dancing.

But he did get into the palace—and promptly got lost. So vast it was, grand and splendid, full of nice, beautiful things. The boy wandered the halls until the clock stroke midnight, clutching a gleaming knife in his hand. It was his father’s knife; he was a doctor. The boy hoped a doctor’s knife would cure the disease in the heart of the land.

But then, suddenly, a palm was on the boy’s shoulder, wide and warm, and a kind voice asked:

"Are you lost, boy?"

The boy jumped and turned around. He saw long legs that went up and up, and had to pull up his head to see the heart-spattered shirt and lips as red as cherries in summer. The man had golden hair that glowed in the dim light of the torches, and a black feathered coat just like the king’s.

The boy clutched the knife so tight it hurt.

"You hungry, kid? Want an apple? I’ve got some," the man threw him a big, red, juicy apple. The boy’s belly gave a rumble; he hadn’t eaten anything since morning. The man bit into his own apple, juice flowing out of the corners of his mouth. It was messy and disgusting, and the boy chewed on his apple for distraction. The fruit flesh tasted tart and sweet. Suddenly the boy remembered who gave him the fruit, and looked up. The man watched him with a kind smile.

"That sure was good, but I’m not full yet. Shall we look for more food, what do you say?"

And the boy could only nod.

The tall man and the small silent ghost beside him raided the pantries and ate until their bellies were round. The man told funny stories, and the boy even laughed once or twice. No matter how he wished himself to, he couldn’t raise the knife and strike the heart of the evil.

‘Is that magic, too?’ he thought desperately. ‘Am I going to get my soul eaten?’

But when the sky turned from black to grey, the man stepped away and said:

"Now leave, child. I cannot protect you anymore. Fun as it was, do not ever come back here. You hear me? Keep away from this cursed place."

"Why won’t you leave, too?" the boy asked suddenly. "Don’t you want to?"

"Believe me, I do, sweet child," the man smiled, his eyes very sad. "However, the king won’t let me. He bound me and put me in the mirror, and it’s only magic as strong as his that could sever the bonds."

And the boy suddenly saw a thin ghostly string twining around the man and leading somewhere into the deep of the palace, and just like that, he knew what he could so.

"Stand still," he ordered, and in a flash of steel, he cut the string with his father’s knife.

A loud scream echoed through the palace, together with the shrill sound of glass breaking. The man watched his now free hands, amazed, and then he turned a wide grateful smile at the boy.

"Run!" he cried, and they ran. The boy’s legs were too short, so the man picked him up and carried him.

The edge of the horizon was starting to turn red as they ran out of the palace, so the boy clutched the man’s shirt tightly and willed the shadows to come over them and cloak them for these last seconds, and they reluctantly obeyed.

The moment they stepped outside the palace walls, the first warm ray of sunshine fell upon them, kissing the boy’s nose and lighting up the man’s golden hair.

They got away and hid in the mountains on the border of the kingdom. They ate berries and mushrooms while the summer lasted, and when the winter came, they had already put up a small shack.

The boy was happy. The shack felt like home to him, and the man like family lost and found. He was stupid and did clumsy things, like hearts were wont to do, but he had the warmest smile, and the boy never felt cold next to him.

Until one day the cold pale moon came out in the starless sky and shone a lurid light on the snowy trees around their shack, and the boy suddenly remembered that it was the winter solstice day.

He went out to get some snow to later melt it for water; and when he came back, there was the king in his pink feathered coat, sitting on the larger bed out of two. The boy’s man stood before him, deathly pale.

"So that’s who you chose to abandon me for, my precious heart?" the king laughed. The boy remembered with despair that his knife was far away, securely hidden because the boy never felt unsafe anymore. "I’ve missed you, you know. Oh, how I longed to feel you close again."

The man’s eyes grew impossibly sad. He said nothing.

"It hurt so much, being torn away from you," the king went on. "I never want to feel that pain again. Do you?"

The man just looked at the king, quiet and still.

"Eh, you haven’t changed, I see," the king scowled. "At first you used to say too much, now you never say anything at all. So, what do we do now?"

He pulled out a pistol.

"Do I kill the nuisance that kept you away from me? Bang!" he pointed the pistol at the boy, and the man promptly stood between him and the king.

"Ah, I see. Well, I might just listen to you, one last time."

And the king shot the man square in the chest six times, unloading the pistol.

The boy screamed and screamed. Never before had he felt such hatred, pitch-black and all-consuming. It felt too big to fit inside him; darkest of dark, it seeped into his veins and poisoned his flesh, and the man’s blood stained the boy’s hands black.

The king didn’t die with his heart, despite what the old man said. He watched the boy with a wide smile.

"Let’s go, boy," he said finally, easily stepping over his bloody, lifeless heart. "I think I might just make you a prince."

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid Roci, making me fall head over heels for another gorgeous dead guy. My life quality significantly decreased after that damn flashback. Fuck you and your dumb sexy face Roci. :( *weakly shakes fist*


End file.
